The Hitchhiker's Guide To Cadoan
by tomai
Summary: A continuation of the travesty that is The Hitchhikers Guide To Ivalice. All previous side effects apply.
1. Chapter 1

-1**Soo, the story continues. To all regulars, welcome, fellow masochists. Hope you enjoy looking into that twisted organ I call a mind yet again. To all the newcomers, you really should read the first story before this. I can assure you the writing's just as bad in that one, so you're honestly not missing anything. **

**Huh, I really don't have much to say this time. Well, get on with it, you poor doomed souls.**

_When talking about Katzu's reign in Ivalice, it's very easy to dwell on the negative. It is very obvious, after all. Almost one third of the country seceded, the number of clanners plummeted, some families were forced to stop doing the work that they had been doing for centuries. The study of magic was struck especially hard, as cities were forced to shift funding traditionally for higher learning to production and manufacture of goods to keep up with Katzu's demanding taxes. _

_Despite all this, good things did happen. The economy under Cross was booming. Former clanners took jobs in mines, mills, and factories. New trade routes were established, along with new cities. Even vagabonds and beggars could find enough employment to eat when the need arose_

_No one could doubt that under Katzu, everyone was protected. His Country Patrol, also called "Clan Katzu", protected citizens from monsters and bandits, as well as helped in numerous public projects. The Katzu Cross Windmill Farm allowed parts of Uladon Bog to be drained, and a small but prosperous farming community was established._

_Thanks to a good economy and protected routes, trade couldn't have been better. With the help of large banks like Winston, Winston, and Winston, an ambitious and driven person could make a good living for himself starting his own trading business. Erik Winston and Sons Trading allowed these small businesses to make good commissions shipping on established trade circuits for the merchant family. "Every mouth fed, every back clothed," was the motto of the Katzu regime, and it was one they stuck to. _

_So long as you stayed in your place, didn't make any trouble, and worked, Ivalice under Katzu was a safe, comfortable place to live. _

"Roland Nikola. Famous clanner, esteemed scholar of magic, and self proclaimed genius." A tall, freckled man looked across his enormous desk to the nu mou sitting before it. He smiled politely. "It is an honor to speak to you, sir."

"Katzu Cross," Roland said, a humorless grin on his face. "Fearless fighter, savior of the economy, and arrogant megalomaniac. You've no idea the pleasure this meeting has for me."

Katzu's smile didn't diminish a bit. "Well, I suppose you want to know why you're here."

"I can hazard a guess," Roland said dismissively. "I want to know where Bethany is, actually."

"You really were part of Clan Nutsy," Katzu said, the small smile on his face still intact, "you feel that you should be entitled to everything you want. Here you are, under arrest, and you are demanding, I must repeat, demanding answers from your executioner."

"And you really are arrogant," Roland laughed, "here you are, after making sure to capture me alive, at the expense of some of your best units I might add. How do you have the gall to attempt to intimidate me? Where's Bethany, Mister Cross?"

Katzu brought his great hands up in a platonic gesture. His bear forearms were carefully sculpted, each sinew standing out. "Don't worry, Roland. Miss Winston is in my paradise prison. It's where I keep the prisoners still useful to me. It's amazing what these dissenters create for my cause." He ran a hand through his red hair and sighed. "Why is it, Roland, that the finest minds are always the ones that want to disrupt the status quo?"

"They understand the concept of freedom, and realize why it's something to fight for," Roland said. "Freedom is something that everyone is entitled to."

"Is everyone entitled to sit outside, eat their food raw, and clothe themselves with leaves and animal furs? Because that is also a part of freedom. We're trying to create a society here., Mr. Nikola. You must admit, how many beggars have you seen? Everyone is employed, everyone is fed. Ultimately, everyone is happy."

"Save for revolutionaries, of course," Roland said, "it was rather disheartening about my friends, Macgregor and Sybil. I was never able to find their graves."

Katzu sighed again. "That was a very unfortunate incident. I had no other choice."

"Oh, of course," a dark chord was creeping into Roland's voice now. "What impudence they had to try to get their children into a Cyril school. Oh, never mind the fact that the kid's parents risked their lives so you had the opportunity to wrest power from the government. Where would you put them? Not viera, not bangaa, where do they fit in the system? So just refuse them! And of course, when the parents try to protest, you crucify them!"

"They did much more than protest," Katzu said, his voice slightly strained. "They tried to form a political party against the country's government."

"Debate's healthy."

"Dissention isn't!" Katzu bellowed. "A separate political party would cause confusion amongst the public. If the public is in confusion, production starts crawling, the economy slows, and recession comes that much closer! I can't let that happen to the citizens of Ivalice!"

"There are always dips in prosperity. Inflation, decreased demand, factors aren't always perfect. Without that slap every now and then, how will we know what to work toward?"

"We will work towards a better tomorrow."

Mateus above, the man's loony, thought Roland. Does he honestly believe what he's saying? "One where people aren't publicly executed, perhaps?" Roland rubbed his swollen eye wearily. "Mister Cross, I have done nothing but talk for almost ten minutes now. If you're going to kill me, please do so. If you're going to torture me, get on with it. If you're going to imprison me, be quick. I'm tired. I recently had an early flight, and an unfortunate accident with a gun's butt."

"Roland Nikola," Katzu said, the polite smile now completely gone. "There's a place for you in my plan, as well. Did you notice something about my office?"

The nu mou smacked his lips a few times. "No magic. None. I was going to ask how you accomplished that. I felt my magic sapping out when I stepped in."

"It was an interesting discovery. Do you know that some people with an affinity for magic can act as magic conduits, channeling it?" He pressed a button under his desk, and it rose.

Under its polished wood frame was a nine foot tall glass tank. Suspended in it was a moogle, grey eyed and with a shock of blonde hair sprouted up from the top. "Montblanc," said Katzu, a smile on his face once more. "The greatest black mage of his time, yes? And I found this form of magic channeling works best with two people so after discovering it, I sought one who had skills comparable to his. And who should I find but this beautiful lady?"

Roland felt his vision zoom in on the nu mou floating inside the tank. "Rachel."

Her silver white hair stood on end inside the tank. Her green eyes shone out like two emerald search lights. The slope of her shoulder, the curve of her snout, every detail hammered into Roland's psyche. Years of mental barriers, already battered, broke down. Roland slumped in his chair, his mind shutting down instead of trying to deal with what he saw.

"There's a reason I endured your poisoned tongue for so long, Roland Nikola." He turned to his bookshelf. "How much did he put out?"

The bookshelf swiveled, revealing a nu mou looking at a piece of paper that was writing jagged lines onto itself. "Seven hundred MP and still counting, sir. This one fellow has more power in him then almost your entire Mage Corps combined. He could power the entire palace on magic alone if he wanted to. Start the fires, run the water, everything."

Katzu nodded. "That's what I was hoping for." He looked at the two floating mages in front of him. "Did we ever find a way to close this thing easily?"

The nu mou shook his head. "I'll have a porter take care of it, sir."

"See to it. And put the Roland in the Mage's Tower. He should keep out of trouble there. Have the alchemists snake a conduit into his cell."

The nu mou smiled grimly. The Mage's Tower? It appeared Roland was going to be there for a while. Poor schmuck.

Bethany woke up in a small room of stone, laying down on a surprisingly comfortable bed. Not Winston standard by any means, but a definite step up from any inn she'd slept at. Rubbing her eyes, she started to take in where she'd spent the night. It was nice enough, with a large window and a bookshelf to the right and a bathroom on the other side. Book ending the shelf were two draftsmen tables, like the ones back at her dorm in Cyril. There was also a bed beside hers, currently occupied.

Passing straight through whatever moral quandary a normal person would have in waking up a complete stranger, Beth hopped off her bed and vigorously shook her new roommate.

"Hwuh?" said the sheets, which pulled back to reveal a nu mou who was probably a bit older then Beth. She scratched her white hair tiredly. "Do you know, it's very impolite to wake someone up, especially like that."

"I'm really, really sorry that I don't particularly care, kupo," Beth said, what little sense of etiquette she had overruled by her need to figure out where she was. "Who are you? And where am I? I'm in prison aren't I? How'd you get in here?"

"I'm Veronika Feynman, you're in Katzu Cross's paradise prison, so yes, and why don't you say first?" the young nu mou said. She got up and put on a pair of thick spectacles. "My, you're a pretty thing, aren't you?"

"Try to talk your age, kupo," Beth said. Veronika had sounded like her grandmother with that last thing she said. "I'm Bethany Winston. The name should tell you everything, kupo."

The young nu mou nodded and got up. "Well, it's an honor to meet you, Bethany. As for my reason, I refused to give the government my master's alchemy notes when he passed away."

"Who was your master, kupo?"

"My master was Harker Drogovitch, of the Delia Dunes. He liked to keep to himself. I was lucky enough to be his granddaughter."

Bethany thought for a second. "Kupo, I think I read an essay by him. Did he do a lot with plants, kupo?"

Veronika nodded. "Kept most of the patents to his spells to himself, as well. He was sort of old fashioned. He didn't want to make his spells public access when he died, and he really didn't want Katzu to get him, so he entrusted them to me."

"Where'd you hide them, kupo?"

"You think I'm telling you?" Veronika asked incredulously. "We just met! Being cute will only get you so far."

"Are you coming on to me, kupo?" Beth asked. She found her new roommate to be more open than she was comfortable with. "Because I sort of have this guy on the outside, and he's pretty kupo so…"

Veronika laughed. "Oh, don't worry, my husband probably wouldn't approve of me having an affair with my prison mate," she thought for a second and laughed again. "Well, he'd probably not approve of him being unable to see it, at any rate."

"So," Beth said, deciding now would be a good time to change the subject. "What's the normal schedule around here anyway, kupo? Do we just stay here?"

"Oh, they let us out to eat and socialize, then we come back in here and work until dinner, then we can go to bed." Veronika said. There was a pause before she uncertainly added, "or, you know, whatever."

"Kupo?" asked Beth, still unconvinced that Veronika was subtly hitting on her, "What else is there?"

"Do you play chess, by any chance?" Veronika said in a slightly pleading tone. "Bismarck and I used to play all the time but it's been four months and I don't want my game to suffer."

"Um, I play sometimes. Sure, kupo."

Veronika clasped Beth in an enthusiastic embrace and thanked her. "Oh, it's so good having you here! Most of the prisoners are so much older than me and I was the only girl and it's just so good to have someone to talk to! Sorry if I sounded a bit odd, but it's nice to have a room mate after four months."

Kupo, clingy much? Beth thought to herself, but realized she was being mean. "It's fine. Sorry if I was a bit snappish, kupo. I'm still in a bit of shock. Um, you can stop hugging me, kupo."

Veronika blushed a bit and set Beth down. "My personality probably hasn't helped that shock, eh?" she asked ruefully.

Beth smiled. "It's okay, kupo."

"Ladies?" a voice behind the door asked, accompanied by a knock on the door. "Breakfast time."

Veronika got up and put on a morning robe. "In a minute." she tossed Beth a shawl. "Come on, I'll introduce you to everyone else."

Uncertainly, Beth wrapped the shawl around her shoulders and followed Veronika out. Prison wasn't as bad as she thought it would be, but she still wasn't sure what to expect.

Roland woke up in a dank stone cell, on a mat of stuffed hay. In front of him was a bowl of water and a piece of bread. "My dinner, I suppose," he said to himself and started to munch on the crust he was given. Now was the time for logical thinking. Now was the time to be calm.

He tasted the inside of his mouth again. The familiar taste of magic was gone. He was being bled dry, his natural production of magic being outstripped by some force sapping it out of him. Still, no time to panic, think calmly.

Okay, let's see here. Large metal door, decidedly magical runes and such inscribed on the face. Roland rolled his eyes at that. Most of them were probably for show, anyway. He did put his hand on it. Hm, sparks , red light, excruciating pain, okay, the normal things. Still, calm thinking. Well, Roland deducted as he nursed his aching hand, this was obviously a prison built to keep mages of some power in, so how would he have built a prison for the government.

The answer was obvious to Roland, as it was to any mage of some power. Make it damn near inescapable but, and this was important, make it so that if you were imprisoned in it, you could escape. You never know who might not like you in the government after all. Make sure it was something not too easy or obvious, but something no one but a mage of your caliber would recognize.

"Right," he said, now starting to project his thoughts, "so no secret passages, no invisible key, no special word. It would have to be a spell. Something really obscure and hard to do. Think Roland. Well, what do I know about who designed this place?"

Sitting down, Roland attempted to sift through the magic frequencies to figure out who could have done this. "Hmm, choppy. Bits are flowing independently of each other, and it ways they wouldn't naturally. Not a sage. Hmm,. Quite varied, bits of color magic and pure magic are in here, so probably not a specialist of any kind. Probably an alchemist. So how would an alchemist get out of here? Come on, calm thinking, Roland." He thought for a moment. "Wait, would that work? It's darn near obscure enough, but who'd do something like that to themselves?" A look of speculation crossed his face as he thought. "Alchemist probably made this place, and if they're thinking what I'm thinking, only one alchemist would have the guts to do it." He shook his head. "Ezel, you're like a guardian angel." With that, Roland started to rip clumps of his beard out.

**And cut. All right everyone, see you next time. Probably some time in December, who knows. Now I know what you're thinking. And stop it. Your mother would be ashamed. But if you also were wondering where some other characters from the last fic were, don't worry, their time will come. I've got this weird plan for the story, so we'll see how it works out. Anyway, G'night, folks. Tip your waitresses, they work hard.**


	2. Chapter 2

**You're still here. Thanks for that. I tried to make this chapter a bit longer than usual, so consider it my Christmas gift to you. If you don't celebrate Christmas, that's cool too, just don't look it in the mouth, yeah? Now on with you.**

_Few women are called to be monks amongst the bangaa, but it does happen. There are a good few convents who's holy women work in the same capacity as the green monks, taking care of the community and such. The men do have a traditional view about the women who wish to be white monks, however. It is the males, after all, who were meant to be the warriors. Women were meant to defend the home from enemies and protect the children when the men weren't there. It isn't because the bangaa see there women as weaker than the men. Indeed, the few times an army attempted to invade Sprohm, they were rebuffed by enraged wives, mothers, and sweethearts viciously smashing heads, snapping spines, and impaling soldiers on pitchforks, flagpoles, and sharpened rolling pins. The bangaa are proud of their strong women. Still though, women are supposed to stay near the hearth._

_The main way women function in the clergy are as prophetesses. Prophesy in the bangaa church system is a rather arcane mix of a tiny bit of divinity and a lot more information assessment and statistical analysis. What will often happen is there will be a request sent from the patrons of various monasteries. The monastery sends it to the prophetess convent, and they will pray for judgment and clarity. After praying and researching what other monasteries are up to the challenge, along with what would be the best way of fulfilling the request, a prophecy is sent out to an available monastery. The prophecy doesn't have to actually be written in a poetic meter, but it's expected._

Joseph woke up just as the storm reached its fever pitch. It was a great plains storm that had surged across Giza, picking up power and attitude until it had hit Lutia, and ran right into the mountains. Now lightning arced and leapt across the boiling sky and in between the surging purple-black clouds. The whole thing was further tinged a dark blue from the snow which blew parallel to the ground and felt as if it was cutting through Joseph's little body. Hail too, fell from the sky, as big around as a gil coin.

Joseph decided to stay in the tent.

"How's the weather out there?" Matt asked, grinning as the tent's walls were beaten by the winds and hail stones.

"You know, there can be some bad storms up at Muscadet, kupo. They've even flooded the mines a few times. But this, kupo," Joseph shook his head and bundled even deeper into the furs laid out as his bed. "This is just ridiculous."

Matt nodded his head. "Yeah, but hey. Once we get through the Lutia pass, everything gets better. The mountains block most of the bad weather, so Cadoan's always nice."

"Why couldn't we have waited for this storm to pass again, kupo?"

Matt thought for a second. "Honestly, we probably could have. But I don't want to stay in one place too long. Katzu knows you quit your very cushy job at the mines and I'm the only apprentice to the sage he recently imprisoned, he's probably monitoring our movements. The sooner we get into Cadoan, the better."

Joseph nodded. "Makes sense, kupo. So how far are we from Cadoan anyway, kupo?"

Matt thought for a second. "Two days? From here we just cross the hills and we're there. Real woodsy, lots of monsters."

"That only sounds slightly better than the storm, kupo."

"It isn't too bad. Master left me in the middle of them for about two weeks so I could learn some blue magic on my own." Matt took a second to reminisce on those fourteen days of getting beaten by every monster imaginable. The rock knuckled punches, the poison, the zombies! It wasn't like there were any ruins or graves or anything, where did they come from?! It was ridiculous, there was even a Lamia! "Actually, in retrospect, those were probably the worst two weeks of my life. I still have a scar from where a Faerie tried to kill me with her bare hands."

Joseph massaged his temples. "You know, when I decided I was going to forego all hope I had of respect, social success, and even acceptance back into my family to rescue Beth, I didn't know what to expect , kupo. Thanks, Matt you've totally cleared my vision. I now know that this is going to completely suck. Completely, kupo."

"Ahh, but it _is _for your lady love, right? She'll definitely make it worth your while." Matt said, smiling a bit as his friend's long ears turned red. "Good to see blood's still circulating to your ears, frostbite's a real bugger. Anyway, would you rather take option two, with the Judgemasters?" Matt asked as he got up. "Now come on. We'd better leave the tent, it'll be too much effort packing it up again. Wrap the furs around you."

"Kupo?! We're walking through that?! I think I'd rather set off a mining charge with a short match, kupo! At least then I'd be assured a quick death!"

"This storm's only going to get worse, man. We stay in here any longer and we'll be dead in our sleeping bags before it's done with us."

Seeing no use arguing with that, Joseph got up and started to stuff furs into his foreman jacket. It stays cold around the underground rivers his shaft passed through, so it would have been excellent protection had he still been in the mine. Here though, he might as well have been wearing a flimsy silk nightie for all his jacket was doing for him.

After insulating himself, he grabbed his pack. He and Matt were traveling pretty light, so the only things in his pack were a bed roll, a shortened stock rifle he bought at a thrift store in Sprohm, and his violin.

Matt, having kitted himself up as well, opened the tent flap and the two ventured out into the snow, hail, and blustering winds. More lightning flashed across the sky and the two started to trudge down the path. Before they'd taken more than ten paces, Matt pulled out a rope and tossed an end to Joseph. The two tied their ends around their waists. They couldn't risk getting separated in a storm like this. Now firmly bound to each other, they set off to Cadoan again.

----------

"Quigley, how long has Arthur been back with us?" Abbot Paul asked his assistant. He was in his office, sorting through the newest prophecies he'd gotten.

"Oh, about three and a half months, your grace."

"He's been doing pretty well for himself since his mission, hasn't he?"

"Oh, very well, your grace. He's a grand worker, and he did a very good sermon a three weeks ago. He's been working feverishly cataloguing all those new books he got from Roda as well. I wouldn't be surprised if we could give him a small community to watch over. It's almost a waste just having him here in the monastery."

"I've actually been thinking about that, Quigley," Paul said, picking up a piece of paper. "Here, read this."

Quigley put on his spectacles and scanned the letter. "Hmm, Grigorian style accentual verse, eh? So it's from one of our convents. Lets see, 'ancient home of wisemen need, a priest to plant a mission's seed'. Is the Cadoan diocese expanding, then?"

Paul nodded. "The city's cathedral is. opening a new mission house in the labor quarter. They've been getting a lot more bangaa immigrants. It's a good place for young monks to get their feet wet. Not too many patrons, well established setting, I think we should send one of our boys there."

"And you're thinking of Arthur, then?" Quigley said, markedly surprised at his superior's resolve. "You're sure about this?"

"Um, yes. I mean, that's fine, isn't it?" Paul said, the resolve starting to melt away under the heat of his natural second guessing. "Arthur's a fine young man and he's proved himself to be responsible, right? I mean, his last mission trip was very successful, he even managed to get a good few books for our library, right?" The abbot was starting to work himself into hysterics. "It's not like I'm giving him something that he couldn't make head or tail of, right?! It's not like I'm making a terrible, terrible mistake that will haunt me to the end of my days, right?!!"

The splash of water from Quigley's ever present pail deposited Paul back into the realm of the rational, and with a deep breath he got back into his seat, which he'd leapt out of in the heat of the moment. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Quigley."

"Think nothing of it, your Grace. So, you do mean to send Arthur to Cadoan?"

Paul took a deep breath. "Yes. I really do. Arthur's a fine young monk, and I believe he has great potential. Also, I think he needs the experience."

"Ah, putting him on the fast track to the bishopric vestments eh?"

"No, not really," Paul said, looking out of his window to the monastery grounds. "He needs experience with people. He joined the white monks after that poor little thing died in his arms. Ruby lung's a terrible way to go, especially for so young a girl. It got to him. He transferred so he wouldn't have to worry about seeing people die again, but I feel he lost someone on his mission. He's been trying to use work to keep away from that fact, but it's obvious in the way he acts." He strode to his closet and took out his cassock, a fine black woolen thing. "The thing is, as a monk, you must give yourself to the people. Cutting yourself off from them so you must no longer feel heartache goes against your vows and is selfish." He put it on and wrapped a scarf around his neck. Finally, taking his staff in hand, he opened his office door and waved Quigley out. "Come Quigley, we need to tell Arthur of his new office."

Quigley, already warmed by a dark blue couerl skin wrapped around his cassock followed his superior out. He smiled. For all his neurotic phobias of choice and responsibility, Paul had an insight into the soul of a person that was amazing. It was no wonder he had become abbot. "Indeed, sir. A monk must walk for all his days with life on one side and death on the other."

Paul nodded. "We lay the sheets out after a birth and clear them after a death. It is our duty."

The monastery was a building of old gray stone. It was originally an army fort the monks had converted, and its Spartan feel suited its new ascetic residents just fine. The springs under it were used to heat the whole thing, making the monastery completely self sufficient. They didn't even need to pay for coal to heat the boilers.

Quigley took a moment to enjoy the smells from the kitchens to his right. Aahhh, it smelled like they were making ground hominy pudding. So buttery, so sweet. It was just a quart mug of stout away from being heaven. And was that a roast he smelled? No doubt having been in a pot, smothered in smoldering embers for the better part of the day, slowly cooking to juicy perfection. With onions, and garlic too if he was lucky. "Umm, perhaps we could have our discussion with Arthur in the dining hall, your grace?"

Paul smiled. He honestly didn't eat all that much, but it was cold that day and a little something warm in the belly sounded capitol. "That's a good idea, Quigley. Knowing Arthur though, he's probably in the library."

The two made their way from the abbot's study into the dormitories for the monks and out into the monastery yard. It was quite cold outside, and the two battled the winds until they made it to the main building on the other side of the walled complex. From their they went up a spiral staircase and through a hallway to a large door of wood and stone. The door creaked as Quigley struggled to push it open, and the two basked in the heat of the massive iron stove roaring in the middle of the monastery's great library.

There are two things that must be accounted for when you put a fire in a library. One, books are made of paper, and paper burns. It burns quite easily as a matter of fact. A mere spark is enough to turn a quiet hall of knowledge into a hellish inferno. This in itself would be an excellent reason to keep any type of fire out of the library, but there is another side to the argument. Mildew is the other dread enemy of librarians, and it only takes a little bit of moisture to allow it to survive, spreading from one book to another and destroying collections every bit as efficiently as any fire. Hence, the original monks of the monastery thought it necessary to keep a dry heat in the library at all times, and begrudgingly installed a very heavily grated wood stove to keep the fungus at bay.

Along with the crackling of the stove, the scratching of a crow quill pen could be heard in the library. Following the sound, the two saw Arthur's tall back hunched over a desk, numerous books smelling a bit of dirt stacked around him.

Paul approached him cautiously. Bangaa didn't have sweat glands, and thus were spared the curse of most unpleasant body odors, but the abbot could tell from the smell of Arthur's habit he'd been up her for some time. Delicate cleaning fluids for the ancient tomes joined the smell of fish bone glue, ground ink, and ratty old leather. "Arthur?" he asked softly.

The back stayed turned away.

"Arthur?" he tried again a bit louder.

The pen in Arthur's hand kept writing.

Paul finally laid his hand on the young monk's shoulder, and then his head snapped backwards, the stimulus of touch finally alerting him to his superior's presence. Arthur, normally lean, was downright skeletal at this point. His eyes bulged out, reddened from sleep deprivation and dilated from the feeble light of the library's hooded lanterns. "Oh, hello father abbot. I'm just doing some restoration and cataloguing on the books from Roda. How are you?"

"Great Adramalech, Arthur!" Paul said, astounded by the young man's transformation. "How long have you been up here?"

"Umm, a few days?" Arthur guessed, massaging his sinuses. "What day is it?"

"It's the twelfth of Huntmoon, Arthur," Quigley said.

"Oh. It's been about a week and a half, then."

Paul shook his head. This was more serious than he'd first expected. "Have you been eating, at least?"

Arthur nodded. "The monks on duty bring me tea and bread."

Quigley looked him straight in the eye. "Lad, that isn't eating. Come on, let's get you some proper food."

"Maybe after a bath and change of clothes, though. Come on, Arthur." The two helped the slightly dazed monk, who was a bit shaky on his feet after his week and a half bread and tea diet. "Um, Quigley? Do you think it would be a good idea to get someone else to do cataloguing for a while?"

"That sounds like an excellent decision, your grace. I'll get young Luther on it, shall I?"

"Er, very well then. See to it, Quigley."

Arthur, having finally gotten his bearings, straightened up. "Thank you both, but I think I can manage from here."

Paul nodded. "Very good then. Perhaps you wouldn't mind having dinner with us after your bath? We'd like to discuss something with you."

Arthur nodded. "It would be an honor. I'll just go clean up then, shall I?" With that he tottered down the stairs, through the monastery's common room, down another flight of stairs, into the grotto where the hot springs were, and after getting a towel and spare habit from the laundry room, he eased himself into one of the scalding hot springs. Being early in the evening, no one else was there, so he just sort of enjoyed the privacy. He sighed as the just about boiling water washed over his scales. With loofah in hand, he proceeded to go to town with the cleaning. It had been a while since he'd had a bath, and he came back out of the springs a new bangaa.

Going back up the stairs, he hurried across the blustering yard to the dorm rooms and made his way into the dining hall. Quigley and the abbot were sitting at a small four room table and they waved him over.

"Here we are, Arthur," Quigley said, pushing a massive plate of food towards they younger bangaa. "There's a bowl of ground hominy pudding, some fresh loaves from the morning, a fine slab of roast beef with carrots and potatoes, a black mushroom pasty, and a couple of bottles of beer to wash the whole thing down with. Dig in."

Arthur had only realized how hungry he was when he saw the food, but when it struck, he attacked the food with all his might. He tore into the fine, dill spiced brown bread that had been baked that day and supped up the juices of the roast with it. The pudding was shoved into his mouth, its buttery sweetness better than any kind of ambrosia. The monks that worked the kitchen line made the best pasties he'd tasted, and he just about shoved the whole black mushroom pie thing into his mouth at once. The beef was perfect, nothing more could be said. He actually ate with such fervor that as he was finishing up, he choked on a substantial piece of the roast beef and Quigley had to beat his back until it finally fell down into this gullet.

"Feel better, lad?" The elderly monk asked after Arthur finished.

"I had no idea how much I needed food until I saw it. Thank you both, I've been a bit busy lately, and I seemed to have lost myself."

"We've noticed that, actually," Paul said. "You haven't been the same since you came back from your mission."

"There's a lot to do is all," Arthur said, shrugging at the father abbot. "I might as well be the one who does it."

Paul gave Arthur an earnest look. "Arthur, what is the first statute of a Saint Grigori monk?"

" 'Don't piss in the shower, it stinks and plumbers are expensive'?" Arthur said. After a certain amount of time being deprived of sleep, autopilot kicks in, and almost comatose Arthur had forgotten that no one actually says the _first_ first statute of Saint Grigori.

"We don't say that one in mass and you know it," Paul said, rubbing his eyes. It's a terrible thing when a holy man thinks he's funny. "Try again, Arthur."

"All life is sacred," he finally said, quite embarrassed.

"Right. All life. Arthur, you're killing yourself. Barely eating, barely sleeping, working yourself to death. The only hint that we have to your actual presence among the living is the fact your name's always first on the chore roster."

Arthur didn't have anything to say to this. How was he supposed to tell his superior that he'd been burying himself in his work, slowly cutting himself off from life, so that he could forget about what happened during his mission. He realized how selfish he had been for the past few months, and was ashamed at his behavior. "Father abbot, I-"

Paul held his hand up. "Nono, please. I realize exactly why you have been doing this. I should have seen it on your face from the day that you came back."

Arthur hung his head. He prepared for the lecture he knew he richly deserved.

"It's obvious that you've gotten a taste of the outside world, and want back out. Please, don't say anything," Paul interrupted, just as Arthur opened his mouth. The abbot was having fun with this. "It's understandable. The monastery seems a lot smaller now that you've been out there, like a fish returning back to his home pond after seeing the ocean. Men like you aren't meant to be holed up in a monastery in the middle of nowhere. So, I must congratulate you on your new post."

"Post?" Arthur said weakly. His low threshold for the unexpected was being tested.

"Aye lad," Quigley said with a grin on his face. "Or should I call you Father Macfust?"

Aaand, there it went. "Father? Like, my own temple under me kind of father?"

"Indeed." Paul went on to explain to the horrified Arthur about the prophecy and the fact that he had been chosen to start up the new mission house in Cadoan's labor quarter. "It's a very, very small temple, mind you. About seventy patrons, altogether. No other priests, but I understand a young Sister will be interning with you, and the responsibilities aren't all that bad. You two just have to keep the place clean, keep the bills paid, and do a weekly mass. I understand your rhetoric is above average, so this shouldn't be anything to big for you, eh?"

Arthur tried to find some logic in the situation. "There are other more experienced monks in the monastery, aren't there?"

Paul nodded. "This is true, but they're all quite happy where they are here."

"_I'm _happy where I am here!" Arthur practically cried out. "Who nominated me, anyway?"

"Well, the committee was comprised of myself, Quigley of course, and Brother Thomas."

"I haven't been able to dust that desk fer the past week and a half, ya little whatsit!" Brother Thomas, the chief librarian yelled from behind a massive bowl of ground hominy pudding. "Git that boy outta mah library, Father!"

Paul waved to the senior monk. "Well Arthur, I have no doubt you'll do us proud. It'll be good work in Cadoan. People work. You'll have a lot of responsibility, but I have no doubt you'll take it with grace and strength."

Arthur recoiled at the sound of people work. Still, prophecies aren't voluntary, what was he to do? Even so, he tried one more time. "You're certain the prophecy requires that I do it?"

"I think you're the one the prophecy most likely entails, yes. I also think you're the one who needs to do it, out of all here at this monastery."

"Well then," Arthur said at length, "I shall perform this duty with honor, and pray that I may work for the glory of Adramalech." What Arthur really hated about this whole thing was he suspected the Abbot knew the real reason he was apprehensive of leaving, and the fact the Abbot was right about him needing to do this mission.

Quigley grinned and slapped him on the back. "Good on yer, lad. I think it'll be good for you to be working with real people out there in the world again. Besides, just think of spending the rest of winter in the delightfully mild climes of Cadoan, eh? I almost envy you."

----------

"That's a panther, kupo. I'm certain that's a panther growling." Joseph was bent double from exhaustion and his whiskers had small icicles forming from the freezing of his dripping sweat.

Matt nodded from his position on one of the few places the sun managed to shine through the forest canopy. His hair was whitened from frost and stuck out like he'd seen something very scary. "We're in a very unenviable position."

"I thought the mountain's blocked this kind of stuff, kupo."

"Trust me, this is better than what's going on in the Pass. We could be dying out here and it would be better than the Pass."

"Matt kupo, we kind of are dying. Well, I am, anyway, I don't have a snazzy ancient life battery on my shoulder." Half asleep and half walking through a dazed fog, Joseph blearily picked out a patch of black in the middle of the sea of bluish gray that was the frozen over forest floor. "Kupo," he said, the with a faintness that was almost a whisper, "I think that's a crow on the ground, Matt. But it's striped. Am I hallucinating, kupo? Is that a symptom of something?"

"Could be, but I see it too." Matt walked to the crow and took it into its hands. It was rather big, maybe an inch or two shorter than a raven, and it had white and grey bars going down its back. "We're getting close, Joseph. This is a Cadoan Crow breed. I don't know which one though." Looking at the chest, he was happy to see its little chest heaving regularly.

"Is it good to eat, kupo?" Joseph mumbled, having finally slumped onto a tree. He rubbed his chest where there had been a substantial piece of wood a few months back. The cold weather was making the wound act up.

"No," his companion said. He took a look at a small cylinder tied to the crow's leg and read the address on its side. "But I think this'll be our meal ticket to a good dinner, if I'm any judge." He carefully wrapped the bird in one of his furs and stuffed him into his jacket. "We gotta keep this fellow warm."

"Snerk."

Matt looked to see his moogle friend passed out, his head on the roots of a venerable hemlock tree. He smiled a bit and walked over to him. As driven and willful as Joseph was, he was still a greenhorn to the whole adventuring thing and had to get used to the grueling pace Roland had set for Matt.

"Come on man, there'll be time to sleep in Cadoan. Joseph, Joseph," he called as he gently shook the moogle. Hearing a twig snap, he looked up.

And stared."Joseph, Joseph..." His shaking of Joseph became more frantic as before him stood the biggest, meanest looking, muscle bound, sinewy panther he had seen in his life.

**You know, December's a cool month for me and this fic because it was conceived as a way to ease the inevitable but wonderful boredom of the winter holiday break. Nothing like six or seven days inside to get the creative juices flowing. Since then, I've been writing this venial sin at the blistering speed of a little less than one chapter per month. So here's my New Year's resolution. In a desperate attempt to improve on my craft, I promise to write two, that's right, two chapters a month. Of course like most resolutions, I'll probably abandon this one after a month or two, but let's ride this wave of good feeling while we can, folks. God bless, and good night. **


	3. Chapter 3

**New Year, everybody and so far I'm on track for my resolution! Today, I'm going to adress something about the FFTA fanfic community. We're a pretty small group of writers, and because of that, we tend to have our own little specialties. Besides unfunny humor, my main thing's my love of all things mechanical. I like machinery, and I try my best to sneak some of that stuff in when I can. I had a field day with this chapter, since it's basically a nerd version of the Breakfast Club. Anyway, I hope you all will enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.**

_When a mage or magic user of some power dies, there are a few things that happen to his spells and studies. His research must be given over to public acess, or, if he chooses to keep it secret, he can give them to the government for safe keeping. The Committee of Secrets was made so that those spells that the magic user wishes not to be known aren't. Of course, mages are a selfish and suspicious lot near the end of their lives. Years of rivals, family members, and government thugs attempting to wrest their knowledge from them leaves them paranoid and loath to part with anything. Many of these old men and ladies of magic keep in Cadoan, where governmental encroachment is impossible. Most will hand their knowledge down to a trustworthy relative who doesn't mind spending the rest of their time in Cadoan. What's dangerous is when a magic user is away from the nu mou city and into the jurisdiction of Katzu or his secret police._

_Of course, stealing from dead mages is nothing new. It's a well known fact that the Southern Region prison complex, constructed in Cyril by Katzu Cross, was only possible through the confiscated notes of the then recently deceased Ezel Berbier. _

There weren't too many inmates in Katzu's paradise prison. Just twelve, from the look of it. Most all were old nu mou, talking to each other and exchanging papers and books, with a few people from all the other races as well. There was a proud bangaa in military fatigues reading a book beside a slightly smaller but equally serious member of his species, two humans and a moogle laughing at yet another table, and the most beautiful vierra Beth had ever seen, sitting by herself and eating nothing.

**"**So, Beth, let me introduce you to the group." Veronika took her new friend by the hand and guided her to one of the tables situated in the oblong room they had just been escorted into by the guard. Sitting around the table were the three laughing boys she saw coming in. They waved as Veronika came to their table.

"Beth, this is Sunny Brentham," a young man with shaggy black hair nodded to Beth, "his friend Grigori Genson," a towering brown boy smiled waved, "and Roger Finn," a little moogle, even smaller than most of his kin waved above his breakfast plate. "Boys, this is Bethany Winston, a new inmate."

"It's a pleasure to meet a Winston, kupo," Roger squeaked.

Beth looked first at the colossus happily buttering a thick piece of rye bread in front of her. His dark brown hair stuck out everywhere, upon his jaw was a tangled wiry beard, and he had these massive cut crystal spectacles that made his eyes look twice as big as they actually were. All she could think of to say was, "Grigori's a bangaa name, kupo."

Grigori grinned at this. "Yeah, well, Sunny and I were born around Sprohm. My dad was a stone mason, worked with a team of bangaa doing fancy stonework for the city buildings and what all. When I was born, all my mum's friends, who were bangaa themselves, said I should be named Grigori. I was born premature on his day of honor, you see. The bangaa are big on omens and stuff, and it's a fairly common name with them. Anyway, it's better than being called Sunny, eh?"

The other boy grunted and continued to eat his breakfast. Beth decided she'd better get to know Roger a bit more as the two humans were odd, even by human standards.

"Well guys," Veronika said finally, "I just wanted to introduce the new girl before we get something to eat. See you in a second."

"I could see why you wanted a new roomie, kupo," Beth said as they made their ways to the steaming tureens that lined the dining hall.

Veronika smiled. "Aw, don't be too hard on the boys. They're nice enough."

"One talks way too much, the other's a mute, kupo! What about that Roger guy, kupo?"

"Oh, Roger's a sweetie. He came in around the time that I did. I'm not sure what he did to get here, but he was living in Cadoan, apprenticed to Oleff Vogin."

"The Crimson Mage Oleff Vogin, kupo?" Beth asked, astounded at having someone apprenticed to the famed mage. "I specialized in the field he started! His modeling of magical combustion was one of the cornerstones of my thesis! His laws of magic based thermodynamics were revolutionary!" The Winstons have often been divided into two groups, the scholars and the business moguls. Bethany really was a professional student at heart, and it had been a long time since she had been able to "talk shop" with someone.

"You two will get along just fine, then," Veronika smiled as she put chopped apples into her oatmeal. "Roger and the others will be happy to meet yet another metamagical physics geek to talk with."

"Another, kupo?"

Veronika laughed. "What did you think the other two did to get in here? I can assure you, they don't come from good families."

"I dunno, kupo. Revolutionaries, I guess?"

"Actually, yes. They both wrote a heavily anti-establishment newsletter, and Grigori was an author of numerous penny dreadfuls, mainly about revolutionaries and government rebellions. Did you ever hear of an author named Georgie Sharps?"

"That was him, kupo?" Beth said, incredulous at this revelation. She almost flung her mighty stack of pancakes into the air in surprise. "I read his stuff through college! It was schlock mostly, but it was fun to read, kupo. So why are they here, not rotting away in some governmental prison?"

"Ask them," Veronika answered, pouring herself a cup of tea and returning to the table.

Beth caught up and sat down at the table. Sunny and Grigori had pretty much finished their breakfast, and there were papers strewn between them. Taking a look, Beth saw schematics and equations carefully drafted onto the plans with a professional craftsmanship. And here she was about to stake the two as a couple of worthless rabble rousers.

"You two are engineers, kupo?" she exclaimed.

Grigori nodded and smiled. "Yup. Got my vellum from the Sprohm Engineering Academy, fourth in my class. Sunny here got first, the freak. I majored in kinetics and thermodynamics, especially the fluid properties of various magically treated gasses. Sunny here probably had more patents than any student coming out of that school. Brilliant metallurgist, this guy." He playfully punched his buddy in the arm, and Sunny just about smiled in acknowledgement. You could almost see it, around the eyes.

Beth was impressed. Sprohm Academy wasn't an easy college to get a degree in, especially in hard science. "And you actually wrote the 'Tales of Vera Blackgate and the Ulei River Rats' series, kupo?"

Grigori raised an eyebrow and grinned. "A fan of my work, eh? You know, truth be told, writing's a lot more fun than engineering in some ways. I don't end up dreaming in numbers after a writing session, for one. Unfortunately, Katzu would rather have me design the steam pipe layout for airship engines than write a novella, but waddaya do, eh? At least they feed us decent here. I mean, I have a cousin who ran arms to revolutionaries up in Bierlond and let me tell you, when he got caught…"

As Grigori continued blabbing on, Beth finally decided that while her two new human acquaintances were quite odd, they weren't bad as she had thought they were. I mean, engineers aren't exactly normal people anyway. She was actually rather surprised she'd judged their character so harshly. Did she do this with everyone, she wondered? "Really, kupo? So what happened to him after that?"

"Managed to escape, thank Adramalech. Sold the weapons, bought a charter to Cadoan, and has been a fugitive there ever since. Anyway, why are you here?"

"Why do you swear to the bangaa totema, kupo?" Beth's image of Grigori went right back to weirdo status.

"Hee. There aren't too many human churches around Sprohm, you know? Heck, there aren't many humans.The days of Sprohm being a major hub for clanners ended under Katzu's reign, most people try to get out of there as quick as possible if they have to come. My family went to a little Saint Markus church. I was baptized by a bangaa bishop and taught Grigorian theology in Sunday school. When I kick it, I figure Adramalech has a better claim on my soul than Mateus. Plus it'll mean that I'll be able to go to bangaa heaven. I understand they have a lot more fun than the humans. Theres is all light and winged people."

"Umm," Beth wasn't sure what to say to that. "That's good then, kupo. Anyway, I was on my uncle's blockade runner, some Black Eagles captured me and a sage named Roland trying to cross the border to Roda, and here I am."

"You're going to have to go into more detail than that, kupo!" Roger said. He'd also finished with his breakfast and was listening interestedly to the conversation.

Beth smiled and gave a condensed version of her adventures with Arthur, from the moment she was thrown into her bangaa friend's midriff all the way to her and Roland being captured, then to her introduction to Veronika. The three boys laughed. While Beth had placed the trio pretty firmly in the "weirdo" stable, they had pigeon holed their new friend as "a bit uptight".

"While very amusing," Roger said, "There are a few odd points in your story, kupo."

"I personally liked the part where you hid in a wine barrel," Veronika said with a chuckle. "I'm surprised it didn't stain your fur."

"I'm bright pink from the top of my stomach to my toes, kupo," Beth returned. Veronika perked up her eyebrows interestedly. " Anyway, what's odd, kupo?"

"No, he's right," Grigori said, stroking his trangled beard. "First off, Black Eagles on a blockade run? That's pretty extreme."

"Well, we were fugitives, kupo."

"No, that's understandable that they'd want to get you, kupo. But why use Eagles? If they knew a blockade runner was coming, they could have sent a pigeon to the border and bulked up the patrol. Less money then sending three Black Eagle ships across the continent, and the end result is the same, kupo."

"Yeah, the way that they did that denotes that they wanted to take someone in without the rest of the world knowing. And no offense to your family, but if some rich girl was to get caught running the border in her uncle's ship, they'll just think you were playing silly buggers with your family's money. Even if they were using you to control your family, the preparations that they met were pretty unnecessary. Hey Roger, do you think I got the heat transfer formula right on the new engine's superheater designs?" Easily segueing from Beth's story back to engines, Grigori passed a parchment to his moogle friend for perusal.

" Looks like it, kupo. The spiral design for the superheater tube's a lot more efficient, as is sending it throught the furnace as opposed to having an external heat source for the thing. If it works like it looks like it should here, efficiency'll go through the roof kupo. But those tubes are awful thin for the stresses you're putting on it, from your specifications. Do you think they'll handle the steam, kupo?"

"Hey, ask Sunny about the pipes, the alloy's his territory. I'm just keeping the steam hot and flowing in the right direction."

"Oooh, can I see?" Beth asked. She pored over the engine designs interestedl until she got to a little foot note on the fuel. "Who made the fuel compound for this, kupo?"

"That was my work," Veronika said a bit smugly. "I was quite proud with finding that formula. You can make fuel burn hot or you can make it burn long, but it's hard to make it do both like I did."

"Uhuh," Beth said, looking at the paper again. "And who made the fuel's combustion model?"

"That would be me, kupo," Roger said. "Is there anything wrong?"

"Actually, yeah, kupo. You," she pointed to Veronika "have no idea how the combustion modeling process works and left out some key variables. You" she pointed to Roger, "didn't know which variables to use that Veronika gave you and created an effective but highly unwieldy combustion formula, kupo. Here, watch." She took a blank sheet of paper from Grigori's ready hands, and went to work with a pencil also offered by the large fellow. He was grinning ear to ear and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying seeing his friends getting a dressing down. "See, the gasses are the main thing here. The fuel itself is a homologous solid, right kupo? I don't know most of the materials in it, but I'm seeing you used powdered anthracite and white rock oil as the two main things. Lessee, the rock oil was used to discourage air bubbles, kupo? Right, then the main thing you have to worry about is the gas made by these two little fringe substances you have. You put those in to keep the fuel pellets from burning and then dispersing, you want to keep them in one piece so they'll burn long, right? Well look, all this gas is going to build up, and once the pressure reaches a certain amount the molecular energy's going to make the whole thing combust, kupo! This isn't a boiler, it's a time bomb! The main thing I'd recommend would be a decent ventilation system, kupo. Still though, you'll probably waste a lot of heat with that. But that's Grigori's problem, right?" Throughout the entire thing Beth was righting out equations and nixing different letters and symbols in Roger's original formulae. "I think this is a lot simpler for calculations, kupo."

There was silence as everyone looked at Beth. Then they peered at her work. Finally, Sunny looked up and said. "I like her."

Grigori laughed and slapped Beth on the back, misjudging the strength he'd used and flung her out of her seat. "Hee hee, sorry, but physical humor's always the best. Well, my little friend, I'm impressed. You've made probably the two best educated members of our group look like complete fools. Not only that, but you made Sunny open his mouth for something besides stuffing his face. You win."

Veronika was still staring at her. "Well, I see now there's plenty up here," she said patting Beth's head, "and not just up-"

"Watch the hands, kupo!" Beth yelled. "Don't you have a husband?!"

"Bismarck's a very open minded fellow, thank Ultima. Besides, teasing you is fun and easy."

"Aaaand that brings me back to the point I was going to make," Grigori said, slipping back to talking about Beth's capture. "I don't think they went this far out of their way to capture you. You were just a big ol' bonus. No, I'm rather curious as to why they did all this for Roland."

**Ahh, wasn't that fun and not at all painfully confusing? Thanks for reading everyone, see you before the end of the month.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sweet Jesus, how many months has it been? I don't even want to think about it. Sorry for the wait, guys. Also, the last chapter got some criticism, all of which was incredibly rational and useful to me. Thanks guys. Anyway, I think this chapter's a lot better. No techno babble, I promise!**

___Katzu was part of the great Clan Shrike. They were known throughout Ivalice as "the butcher birds", partially because of the bird they named their clan after, and also because they were known as one of the most efficient and mercenary of clans. It was said that in combat, only the legendary Clan Nutsy could best them._

___Katzu himself was a young contender of legendary strength. It was said that with one Far Fist he took out five of the palace's templar guards. He combined this great strength with a mind few would have thought to be encased in a skull known to break down doors and poorly made walls._

_There was only one foe that ever got the better of Katzu. Once, Clan Shrike had encountered Clan Nutsy at Aisenfield. There, he and Clan Shrike's finest took on the Clanners under Marche and Montblanc. After a bitter battle that raged for almost an entire day, Clan Nutsy emerged victorious, Katzu for the first time in his life tasting the dirt. It was Katzu's bitterest sorrow that he had not been slain by the legendary Excalibur wielded by Marche, or the Thor Rod of his second in command Montblanc. No, Katzu was defeated by a Saint Gordon Templar named Macgregor. Since that day, Katzu made a secret vow to run Clan Nutsy into the ground as they did to him._

Roland limped down the hallway, each step with his left foot shooting pain all the way to the base of his skull. A gaping hole in his femur had been bound by a part of his kilt and was doing a dedicated job at keeping its owner from bleeding to death. Roland, had his apprentice or someone he'd known been there to see him, looked completely different. He was like a walking corpse, with wide gashes in his skin, missing clumps of hair, and his massive leg wound making him look like one of the zombies he used to off in his clanning days.

He looked around. Dark, lots of stone, basic prison architecture. There didn't seem to be any magic sucking going on, and he could feel the magic beginning to creep in. He slumped onto the wall and started to patch up the hole in his leg. A fatty pink fluid was starting to ooze out. "Well, it's not like I honestly needed that marrow anyway. Oh no, not at all."

Damn that Ezel! No one but him would have thought of using that as the way out. Still though, Roland took a deep breath and continued on. "Going to have to find a shelter. I don't know when the guards are coming."

"Hey, did you hear that, Zwingley?"

"Sure did, Tim. It was coming from this way."

Roland rolled his eyes. "Of course this would happen, why did I think otherwise?" he thought to himself.

Two guards hurried down the hall and scanned the hallway. Finally they saw what they were looking for.

"Well, what do we have here, Tim?" The first said to his companion. He looked straight down at Roland.

"Why, it's a little kitty, Zwingley," Tim said.

"Meow," Roland said resignedly.He wasn't one for being immortalized or anything, but if his life was ever made into an epic saga, he decided any playwright who devoted even a couplet to him having to morph into a kitty cat to hide from two hillbilly guards was going to be shot with extreme prejudice . "And my clanmates thought it wasn't worth learning how to morph once I became a sage", he thought to himself.

"How the heck did a cat get into the prison, Tim? This don't feel right."

"Oh no, looks like we have a thinker in our midst," Roland thought to himself. "Better lay it on thick." With that he slunk over to Tim and started to rub his head on the guard's shin. Tim seemed like a cat lover.

"Aww, come on Zwingley. He seems a cute feller. Besides, me mum always said that cats had strange and unnatural powers. They could get in and out to anywhere they pleased."

"It hurts to be so right sometimes," Roland thought. It was good to savor these small victories.

"Well, your mum is a mighty fine lady. I guess there's nothing too unnatural about a cat getting here unnaturally."

Tim picked Roland up and looked at him. Roland had managed to take the shape of a nondescript gray tom. Not old, not young, a bit scruffier than most, but not a bad looking cat by any means. "You figure we could take the little feller back to the guard house? It gets mighty lonely there; it'd be nice to have someone over there besides you and me."

Zwingley, obviously the brains between the two, stroked his chin. "Well, I reckon if we don't tell anyone, it won't be too big a problem. Besides, I like this cat. There's something in his eyes that I can't quite make out."

"That's contempt, you marble mouthed buffoon," Roland thought, but purred while in Tim's hands. Roland wasn't much of a morpher, and even turning into a little house cat was a strain after so long not having to use it. He needed rest, and he knew it. Also, the wounds his old body had were just being postponed by this transformation. He still had plenty of hell to go through. But why bother with that right now?

"Hey Tim, we got any cream in the ice box?"

"Yeah, and me mum always said to put a bit of brandy in the cream too for cats. Keeps the coat shiny, she said."

"Your mum has much wisdom on many subjects, Tim."

"She does indeed, Zwingley."

"Ahh, booze and a sheen to my coat," Roland thoughtwith only a little sarcasm, "truly, this is bliss. Tim's mother, you are an equal to any queen in my book." He purred a bit more, just out of generosity to his new benefactors. Things were looking up. Sure, he was still in a prison with his most hated foe, and he probably had a pretty good idea that he was out of his prison soon, but at this point in time, in this place, Roland was content. With these few not at all assuring thoughts, Roland drifted into a nice heavy sleep.

--

"Ahh, Roland, old friend, good to see you. I was honestly expecting you a bit earlier than this." A voice filled with puckish good humour floated through Rolands head as he got up. Looking around, he saw himself in a comfortable little room. There was a roaring fire, an over stuffed chair before him, and beside the oven was dark grey nu mou in the traditional garb of a high ranking alchemist. His snout was a bit more upturned than the norm, and the insides of his ears were pink from where his massive earrings had worn away at them, and as he turned towards Roland with tea tray in hand, the bright eyes, filled with good natured contempt and razor edged intelligence creased into a smile.

Roland smiled and accepted the tea from this mysterious nu mou. "Does this mean you were expecting me to have died like yourself, dear Ezel Berbier?"

The alchemist, now revealed to be the legendary folk hero of Ivalice, laughed as he sat down. "Well, ninety odd years is a decent run after reaching the peak of your prime, eh? I imagine you were pretty well preserved, especially considering the reports that went out at Cadoan. I was at your funeral, even."

"Oh, you know how those sensationalist reporters are, have a few tons of loose sheet rock block your cave's entrance and people start saying how wonderful a man you were, and how loved you were by all and other such nonsense. Funerals are terrible when you're the guest of honor."

"Fair enough, so where were you?"

Roland rolled his eyes. "Sleeping. It was a simple lab slip up, could have happened to anyone."

Ezel grinned. "I always knew you were lazy. I told young Rachel that, but she married you anyway. At any rate, how's the world coming along since I left it?"

Roland sighed and swirled his tea around before taking a sip. It was good tea, the smoky black blend that Cadoan was famous for. "It's terrible. I probably should have died in my lab, to be honest".

Ezel nodded knowingly. "Exactly as I predicted it. I knew that Katzu fellow was going to be trouble. He seemed too sincere at the delegate's meetings in Cyril. You really have to watch out for someone described as 'selfless'. They always have an angle."

"You seem to have known him better than I did Ezel."

Roland's friend chuckled at his comment. "Know him? That young bastard was the reason I'm here!"

"Oh, well that's a shame. You know me, never was one for world affairs. "Roland sipped the tea and took a large butter rum muffin that was offered to him. As he was munching on the delightful little cake, Roland looked around for a second. "Where exactly is here, anyway? I'm almost certain that this isn't heaven. I was sure that heaven had more blushing maidens, classical architecture, and wine. This looks rather like one of your hideouts."

"Oh, yes, well, this is the Abyss."

"What?!" Roland said, more than a little surprised. The place between the worlds wasn't even considered as punishment by the Totema, a place where nothing was. It was a place devoid of the power of life, or the solidarity of eternal souls. "What are you doing in here?! This is supposed to be a place that only those who have an iron clad will could even hope to gaze upon, let alone have tea and muffins! This is excellent tea, by the way. How did you manage to do all this without any magic, or any life force?"

Hearing this, Ezel smiled so wide that his normally benign features became almost predatory. "Roland, can you keep a secret?"

Roland solemnly nodded to his friend. "Of course not."

"Oh good. See, when I died, I know that they ransacked my room, looking for any plans I might have had. I happened to have something I'd worked on for a long time, it was a way to siphon off magical power, a little charm I'd worked on since my Anti Laws were starting to get a bit saturated. Too many on the market at once. Could you believe that the clans were just trading amongst themselves, trying to cut me out? A few were even trying to reverse engineer the cards. They said I had a monopoly on the business, as if it was a bad thing. Such cheek."

"Ezel, get on with it," Roland said pleasantly. "You're dead now, it doesn't matter."

The unearthly alchemist sighed. "Yes, I suppose so. A minor set back, eh? Anyway, the siphoned magic would come back to me. The way I see it, I just give a few to some choice clanners I don't like, and it would be like having an ether drip feed."

"Very diabolical. I like it. So wait, you're still getting magic power from it? After you're dead?"

"Well that's the strange thing, I hadn't intended on my using it after I stopped living. I hadn't even implemented it while I was alive. I've no idea where the magic's coming from."

Roland took the final sip of tea from his cup and placed it down. "I think I can tell you where, Ezel. The magic, it's stored in some kind of battery, right?"

"Sure, I was thinking something small, an amulet or even a pair of shoes. Then the stored power slightly siphons out to me. The mages think they're getting a little magic bank to go back on, when in fact they're just keeping it there as it slowly comes my way. Quite elegant."

"Indeed, a bit too elegant, actually," Roland said, laughing a bit at Katzu's expense. "With your convoluted notes, Katzu's alchemists thought you'd just created a simple magic battery. They've been sucking so much power out of high class mages in some devilish anti magic prison they aren't noticing the stipend it's sending you. By the way, thanks for having made it so that the natural magic in the body's undifferentiated cells aren't affected. I knew only a spell weaver of your level could know about the magic within these cells that allow them to differentiate to the various cells the body uses. Hurts like hell to fashion a spell using what little magic's in the things, but it works. My body won't be liking it."

"You figured it out then? Well, I'm not sadist, Roland. Narcissist? Well maybe to some people. Pathological hater of establishment? Sure, why not. But I don't want to hurt people. When you mess with the magic of life," he looked over his teacup mockingly, "you become a sage. Only you people have enough of a god complex to do that. More tea? Good for marrow regeneration."

"Yes, why not. What does it do for hair growth and healing of the deep dermis?" Roland was used to the ribbing that Ezel gave him about his particular fields of expertise. Being a sage meant mastering the magics of life and the natural. It's dangerous stuff, messing with life. The first zombies were created by the crazy sages who lived out in the swamps around Cadoan, sad but true. Still, to Roland, there was a greater potential to aid the people of Ivalice through his work. "Anyway, what are we going to do, Ezel? Ivalice as we know it is gone. What's your plan?"

Ezel, normally so jovial, had no amusement in his laugh as he answered Roland. "Plan? What plan? As I recall when I was alive, Katzu was treated as a hero. The people loved him, they were just a hair's breadth from chucking a crown on his head and declaring him the next king of the place. And I bet they still love him, eh?"

"You have no idea. But Ezel, you know that's not right." Roland shook his head and sighed. "Once, when I was in Cyril with Matt, he's my apprentice by the way, I talked to a beautiful young girl there about politics. She was gushing about Katzu saving the country and protecting our freedoms. Our freedoms, Ezel. They have none. To prove this, I said these were interesting points and asked what she was currently studying. She said that Katzu had given her a grant to study economic statistics because she did so well in her studies and they needed more people to monitor the ever expanding economy. I asked if that was what she wanted to do. Ezel, she wanted to be a clanner like her grandfather, who had been a ninja, but then she said that everyone had to make sacrifices so we could all be happy. What if it meant sacrificing your life? Montblanc and Rachel are still alive; Katzu uses them as magic storage containers. So now even they have a use in his master plan. He's a mad man, Ezel. The people love him; they've given everything to him. What happens if he decides not to be so nice to them?"

"What are you suggesting, Roland?"

"Ezel, don't you know?"

Ezel got up and paced about his cottage. This was a man who was calm at the time of his death, when running away from Ivalice's greatest bounty hunters and most elite Judgemasters. It was quite odd to see him agitated. "Roland, I knew from the beginning. I'd always known he was nuts. And of course, I know how we can defeat him. We need a revolution, a glorious revolution, and I don't feel like it. Why did you think I let myself die? I was old when they'd found me, certainly, but there has not come a day when Ezel Berbier couldn't tell when someone was trying to assassinate him. Roland, the truth is, I'm tired. And selfish. I left heaven and came to the Abyss to find true freedom. From the gods, from authority, and I found it. My magic's helped me manage it, and I'm happy. The Ivalice I know is gone. And I'm certain Katzu's got bigger plans for it. Say goodbye to his nationalistic fervor, Roland. We're going to see the start of imperialism, greater governmental autocracy, and slowly, the icy hand of a totalitarian ideal is going to grip my beloved country. Take my advice and just die quietly. Our age has passed.."

First Barnabas, now the great Ezel himself, did no one have hope for Ivalice?Roland didn't know what to say. He just got up and left. Ezel sighed and cleaned up his tea kit. About thirty seconds later, Roland staggered back in, his eyes dilated and his teeth chattering. "This is where you live?! That was terrible, Ezel!!"

Ezel smiled grimly. "That's absolute freedom. A severence from everything. It is terrible, and yet, it's what I've always wanted. Sit down, it goes away after a while." He helped his twitching friend into a chair. "In all honesty, I haven't gone out since I managed to craft this place."

"I can see why, you maniac! You'd rather stay here then help your country?"

"Yes, quite cynical, eh? So, shall I put another pot on?"

"No, but have one ready when I get back."

"Back? Whatever do you mean?"

"Ezel," Roland gave his colleague a most solemn stare, "you're not getting out of this that easy. I assure you, I will be back, it will be on my own terms, and if I need to drag you back to the realm of the living by your long grey ears and bond your soul to a rock to keep you there, so help me I will. At any rate, I think my near death experience is almost over so I'll be back in the mortal world any seco-"

--

Roland's eyes snapped open. So it appeared that it was a dream. Still, he had in his mouth the slightly bitter aftertaste from a cup of good Cadoan tea, so he knew it hadn't been a worthless dream. He got up and stretched his paws out, silently thanking Ultima that he hadn't reverted back to his normal shape while he was asleep. It would have been quite a shock for the two guards to have seen a dying and unclothed old nu mou in a small basket, and someone might have gotten stabbed in all the excitement.

Speaking of his new patrons, Roland's new feline nose detected the delightful aroma of cream and brandy. Sure enough, the two men had left a little something out for him, and he happily lapped the delightful treat up. Life wasn't bad all the time, it seemed. Finishing his snack, Roland cast his yellow green gaze about the guard house. It was a small room, built into the outside prison wall, and aside from a desk and a fireplace, there was nothing there but the bunks the off shift slept on. Zwingley and Tim were snoring away on them currently, with Tim occasionally mumbling the name "Miranda". Roland shook his head and hopped up to the desk. Surely they needed to keep a map somewhere so the idiots on guard wouldn't get lost.

Finally finding it stretched across the top of the desk, he scanned the entire thing, looking to where Beth would be. Finally, he found the cell where she was kept in, along with a girl named Veronika Feynman. "Hmm, Feynman, Feynman, why is that familiar? Oh! Young Berkley Feynman married Harker Drogovitch's daughter! Could it be they had a daughter themselves?" he wondered. Drogovitch was yet another excellent alchemist from the old days. Roland considered if this Veronika girl knew any of his secrets. Now knowing where to go next, the sage hopped off the desk and vaulted through the little gatehouse window into the main courtyard of the prison.

He had to hurry, he was already feeling the strains of keeping the different shape for so long, and he couldn't have himself reverting back while still on the prison grounds. With desperation fueling his moves, he bounded onto the top of the first prison wall, ran up a penant rope to the central building, and then stopped at a chimney. Hopping up, he looked down to the bottom, and saw no fire burning.

Carefully lowering himself down, he put all four of his paws on one side of the chimney and pushed at the other side with his back. Tentatively, he brought one paw slightly lower, than another. Soon he was walking himself down the chimney with relative ease, though the chafing to his back almost made up for how easily he was accomplishing the task. There's a reason why cats don't like it when they're petted the wrong way.

Near the end, the enclosure started to narrow. Suddenly, one of Roland's paws hit metal. Tail first, he helplessly slid down and finally out of the chimney space. For a moment he just stayed still and attempted to regain his senses. Finally having gathered enough of them, he got up and surveyed his surroundings. It was almost completely black, even his feline eyes couldn't catch a hint of light. Walking forward, he hit a wall. The wall gave way under his weight and he was catapulted out of the room he'd landed in with a clang of metal. Getting up, he shook himself and looked to see where he'd gotten himself into. Here, moonlight filtered through windows and reflected off of sharp surfaces. He saw implements for slicing and chopping, instruments for the hewing of limbs and the bisection of bodies. Blood ran off of a knife that might as well have been a sword. Corpses swung from chains hanging from the blackened ceiling. The smell of death had pervaded the room.

"Ah, a kitchen. I suppose that means that," looking behind, Roland saw a monstrous box wrought of black iron. "Yes, I slipped down the oven chimney. Hmmm, according to the map in the gatehouse, that window's under the rubbish pile. I could probably ride the trash wagon out of here."

Roland, his path apparently laid out before him, leapt up to the window and wiggled through the bars. He finally managed to squeeze his narrow feline shoulders out and looked down to the massive pile of garbage under the window that had accumulated from that week's cooking duties. It was a good four story drop, but he was sure that his current body would have no problem. As he was about to leap down, another thought went through his mind. "Hold on, the trash comes in the morning, and I still have a few hours to kill." Suddenly, the sage's quick mind, honed after years as a clanner and an academic, started to piece together a plan. His lips pulled back, and he grinned a pointy grin. Leaping from windowsill to windowsill, he finally decided on one an poked his head in. Through the heavy curtains, he saw two figures. Both were covered completely by blankets, but the one to the right had two long pointed ears and a red ball peaking out. Looking at the black tips of the ears, Roland grinned again and slipped in. It was time to wreak a little havoc in Ivalice's most advanced prison.

**Well, that's all kids. If you read this after my hiatus, bless you. You're too good for me. You know, now that I think about it, I bet we're going to get some crazy traffic now that FFTA2 just came out. Hello, any new faces! Welcome to the fold. Also, yes, I'm going for record number of semi colons used in a fic.**


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